


Form the 69th

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Cunnilingus, Doggy Style, F/F, Face-Sitting, Handcuffs, PWP, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 09:23:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16156208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: In which Mòrag has some handcuffs and Brighid "misuses" them.





	Form the 69th

**Author's Note:**

> this is literally my 69th xc2 fic ha ha congrats to me!!!!! 
> 
> i like trying new things when it comes to writing smut. i also like stupid jokes about 69 (hence the title) because i'm a paragon of maturity

The efforts of the Department of Research and Development just recently put forth their newest creation, a compact pair of handcuffs meant to cut off the flow of ether between Driver and Blade. Its usage was questioned, of course, what with the prevalence of ether nets already in use, so the few prototypes produced were put aside in storage for the time being.

It’s just easier to throw a net atop someone than to slap on a pair of handcuffs. That was the main argument, driven mostly by the old Ardainian tradition of using brute force over caution.

Mòrag was present at the council for no good reason other than, she just happened to be in the capital at the time, so they called her over for her input. She walked away with the feeling that nothing productive was really achieved from all that pointless debate and a pair of the handcuffs to scrutinize for herself. And maybe try it out on some fool.

Which is what Brighid first said about it.

They’ve retired to her residence in the palace for the time being, taking the opportunity to spend an evening in their own preferred comfort instead of the usual inn, where Zeke’s obnoxious cackling and Rex’s weak pleading for him to quiet down so they can _sleep_ can be heard through thin walls. The beds are also usually too creaky. Mòrag looks over the handcuffs while Brighid attends to her usual nightly routine of dressing down.

“There really isn’t much of a point to these,” Mòrag decides, “when the military already makes good use of the ether nets.”

“So you’re against it as well, Lady Mòrag?”

“The production costs of these are somehow higher…”

Brighid moves over to peer at the handcuffs. Frankly, they’re ugly. But handcuffs aren’t supposed to be pretty, as long as they do what they’re meant to do.

“Have they been tested?”

“Yes,” Mòrag nods. “The ether nets have proven to be more effective, since they constrain the entire body.”

“Hmm… then it sounds like R&D just wasted taxpayer money.”

“I’m sure they have _some_ use.” Mòrag turns the handcuffs over in her hands. The cuffs are thick, as to contain enough stasis energy to guarantee a cutoff in the ether between Driver and Blade. There’s the fault in its concept— it would separate Driver and Blade, but if the Blade hasn’t been contained and is powerful enough, an incapacitated Driver wouldn’t be much of a hindrance at all.

Like Brighid. Even if Mòrag were to be momentarily decommissioned in battle, Brighid would still be able to fight on her own just fine.

She senses her shifting behind her seat, leaning over as she observes her fiddling with the cuffs.

“Let’s try it.”

Mòrag should’ve seen this coming. Still, she dumbly responds, “Right now?”

“Unless you feel like running out into the capital at this late hour to find any Drivers and Blades up to no good.”

“Well…”

“There’s no harm in it,” Brighid says, now rubbing small circles along the base of Mòrag’s neck with her thumbs, within her collar. “I’ll keep an eye on the key.”

“Now, wait just one moment. _I_ will be wearing them?”

“You’re the Flamebringer.” Brighid continues massaging her neck and shoulders, easing her down from the usual stress of the day. “If these are enough to restrain the Special Inquisitor herself, then perhaps the council would reconsider their review of the handcuffs.”

Her logic has several dead ends there, but Mòrag is suddenly too warm and dazed beneath Brighid’s hands to care to argue. It doesn’t matter if she’s taken down, because Brighid… is strong. She’s the most powerful Blade of the Empire. She can fight with or without Mòrag.

She’s also obviously feeling particularly frisky this evening, and Mòrag responds to this thought with a drowsy smile, her grip on the handcuffs going slack.

“So, what do you think? Lady Mòrag?” Brighid murmurs close to her ear, still rubbing her shoulders.

“… Go ahead. The key is there,” Mòrag nods to her desk, where said key is sitting atop a stack of papers. “Shall I take off my clothes?”

“No need.” Brighid gently takes the handcuffs from Mòrag and tugs her to stand up. She’d taken off her boots and the outermost layer of her uniform already. She starts to pick at the buttons of her top, intending to strip the rest of it off, but Brighid stops her. “Leave it.”

And Mòrag, of course, doesn’t have it in her to refuse, so she simply nods. Still standing behind her, Brighid kisses the outer ridge of her ear as she pulls her wrists around her back and locks them in place with the handcuffs with a satisfying _click_. Mòrag immediately tenses up.

They can both feel the abrupt cutoff in their link. For Brighid, it’s no different from the times she’d been stationed elsewhere far away from Mòrag, but it’s still like a cold douse of water for a brief moment. Mòrag exhales heavily to readjust herself, curling her fingers into her palms. The cuffs are heavier than she expected, and dig into her wrists when she experimentally tugs.

“It works,” Mòrag dryly says, looking over her shoulder. “I can’t feel your ether.”

There’s something thrilling about seeing the Special Inquisitor in a pair of handcuffs, severed ether connection or not. Brighid caresses her face and turns her around to fully face her, pulling her in close enough that their chests press up against each other. Mòrag’s twitches with the reflexive attempt to wrap her arms around her.

“Maybe we could try it like this,” Brighid laughs, freely able to run her hands up and down her sides uninterrupted while Mòrag continues to feebly tug at the handcuffs. “Without the usual flow of ether.”

“But that’s one of the best parts,” Mòrag frowns. She tries to turn to glance at the key on her desk, but Brighid tugs her back to attention with both hands upon her face.

“Do you feel vulnerable without our link?”

Mòrag thinks to herself for a moment. Or, rather, she tries to think, but Brighid is still touching her and she’s still feeling unbelievably _warm_ beneath her clothes, even without her Blade’s ether inundating her with energy. The heat pooling in her core is all purely her own, for once. This could be… an interesting experience.

The handcuffs feel oh so heavy. She nods. “Admittedly… yes. But— there’s no need to stop.”

Her answer pleases Brighid, who leads her towards the bed as she hungrily kisses her. Brighid’s tongue pushes past her own, grazes over her teeth, pushes her slack jaw further open to better get a taste of her. Mòrag nearly stumbles once or twice, but she’s held steady by the waist while she tries to kiss back to the best of her abilities while still adjusting to the oddly itchy absence of Brighid’s ether.

At least the touching compensates, more or less. Brighid hums against her mouth, slightly tilting her head to get a better angle, carelessly pushing her down onto the bed when the back of Mòrag’s legs bump against it. Her pulse is loudly thrumming. She– she just wants to touch Brighid, but the handcuffs…

As if sensing her trepidation, Brighid pauses. A small string of saliva follows her lip when she parts from the kiss. “Don’t tell me you’ve already had enough, Lady Mòrag.”

“No— not at all,” Mòrag gasps, already trying to crane her neck forward to reignite the kiss. She’s trapped between Brighid and the mattress. The cuffs are digging into her lower back like this. “Do your worst, Brighid. I dare you.”

Brighid’s smile widens. “If you say so.”

She steps back, and Mòrag sits upright to watch with held breath as she easily slips out of her dress. Brighid steps away from the puddle of fabric that had fallen around her ankles, and now Mòrag can properly see the way her chest quickly rises and falls with her excitement.

Without their usual bridge of ether to temper the searing heat of Brighid’s flames, Mòrag _sweats_. She squirms, mentally kicking herself for obeying Brighid so easily earlier when she had told her to keep her clothes on, but the regret is more or less lost when Brighid lays upon her, kissing her cheek and jaw and neck while her hands continue to wander across her shirt.

She could burn it all off, as far as Mòrag cares.

“It’s… hot…” She manages to choke out. Brighid deftly undoes her tie and pulls it loose, but it only helps a little. Mòrag whines and squirms again— having her wrists trapped beneath her back is a bit uncomfortable, especially with the unforgiving bulk of the handcuffs. Her eyes move lower to the way Brighid’s breasts press against her front. Her throat is drier than Chansagh Wastes.

She’s utterly helpless like this, arms restrained and body overheating and head starting to grow dizzy as Brighid savors her. When Brighid pulls back, she _whines_ , already parched.

But also wet.

There’s not much to complain about when Brighid begins to pull her pants down, finally.

“ _Brighid—_ ” Mòrag gasps when she’s exposed, slightly pushing her hips upwards. Her pants had been pulled all the way down and now loosely hang around one ankle. She half-heartedly tries to kick it away, but— Brighid nudges her legs apart, kneeling and leaning down to kiss at her inner thighs.

That’s as far as she goes. Mòrag rocks side to side, back and forth, trying to wriggle closer to Brighid’s teasing mouth, wishing that her hands were free so that she could tangle her fingers through her hair and _yank_ her in, but also completely committed to the handcuffs. It’s torture. It’s incredible. Brighid was right; she feels so feeble and helpless with the ether being cut off— shit, shit, _shit._

Her legs feel cold when Brighid moves back, surveying her Driver’s current state. She’s… wet, so wet. Panting. Flushed. Eyes hazy and pleading. Beautiful. With one hand on each knee to keep her legs apart, Brighid licks her lips.

“Is it uncomfortable, having your hands beneath your back like that?”

Mòrag hastily shakes her head.

“Liar.”

Brighid flips her over easily. She won’t be able to see Mòrag’s face, but…

“Give me a moment, alright? Don’t move.” She lightly slaps her ass and the mattress shifts as she gets up. Mòrag wants to see what Brighid is doing now— but she has a feeling she’s not supposed to look, so she listens instead. She hears her footsteps moving towards the dresser. She hears one of the drawers open, and Brighid rummaging through. Then she’s coming back, and Mòrag eagerly keeps her cheek pressed against the soft bedding as Brighid climbs up to kneel behind her.

“Is it…?” Mòrag doesn’t even need to ask. She was with Brighid when she bought it (out of curiosity, she had claimed) but they’d never had the chance to actually use it, simply because. She doesn’t need to look, either. She can perfectly envision it— the harness fit snugly on Brighid and the thick, long toy attached to it, blue to match her flames.

Well, if they were trying out the handcuffs tonight, it only seemed natural to try other things out too.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Brighid is already pulling her hips up anyway, and leaning over to kiss the back of her neck. Mòrag’s hands are twitching. The cuffs feel _far_ too constricting now, as does the top half of her uniform.

Brighid touches her now, dragging her fingertips up and down her heat, momentarily teasing her clit. Then, two slip inside, and she smiles as Mòrag clenches around her. She’s tight as she slowly fucks her with her fingers, readying her, and it would normally be enough but Mòrag knows what’s more to come. Her fingers withdraw and she wipes them off on the back of her shirt.

“I told you,” Mòrag breathes out, heart racing and her thighs dripping, “Do your worst—  _ahh!"_

So abruptly, she pushes the strap-on into her, easy with how slick and soaked she already is. It’s… _hot_ , Mòrag realizes, probably warmed by Brighid beforehand, filling her and burning her and so tight. So tight. Her entire body is tensed up, fists clenched behind her, and Brighid gently strokes her hair with one hand and caresses her trembling fists with the other.

“Shhh, relax…”

“I’m fine— I’m fine,” Mòrag cries through grit teeth, clumsily trying to rock her hips. “Just _fuck me_.”

The toy lacks the flexible dexterity of Brighid’s fingers and tongue, but. Brighid tightly grips her as she moves slowly at first, to give Mòrag space to relax, then begins to thrust faster not long soon. Maybe without the handcuffs— with their affinity link, it would be easier to get a gauge of her comfort, but Mòrag is clearly getting a thrill out of the raw brutality of it.

Mòrag softly gasps and whines with each harsh thrust. She hears and feels the toy moving wetly in and out of her, and Brighid’s steady panting above her and her fingers digging into her hips, and of flesh meeting flesh. Then Brighid _slaps_ her across the ass, and Mòrag—

_”—Ah!”_

Brighid leans a hand down upon her head as she continues to buck against her, slapping her again, then again, then dragging her nails across her flushed skin to earn even more keening vocalizations from the woman beneath her. She whispers harsh things to her, burning handprints into her shirt, plunging the toy in as far as she can then pulling out to the very tip and repeating until Mòrag can do little but gasp and moan and beg.

Her hands move below to her lower midriff, lifting her to keep her ass raised as she fucks her at this ruthless pace.

Mòrag’s cries are practically muffled into the plush bedding, shoulders tense and sore from straining against the handcuffs. She’s rocked forward with every slam, her body ablaze with heat inside and out. It coils into something unbelievably tense in her core, ready to release.

Then one of the hands caressing her front moves between her legs, and Mòrag sees blinding white as Brighid plays with her clit while steadily fucking her.

“B-Brighid, _Brighid—_ ”

Her movements quicken. If Mòrag weren’t wearing the handcuffs, if they could bear their affinity link, this would be the part where Brighid inundates her with more ether to really piledrive her into that climax, but as they are she can’t. So she makes up for it with teeth at the back of her neck and her fingers at her clit and the toy being driven deeper and deeper as it hits a particularly sensitive spot, until Mòrag’s cries turn completely incoherent as she comes.

She goes limp beneath Brighid, tired and panting as the fucking subsides into something slower and more tender. Brighid’s breath is hot on her neck and her hands now gentle in contrast to the rough spanking and clawing she’d been inflicting just moments earlier.

“That was…” she moans, suddenly aware of the puddle of drool beneath her cheek. “ _Exceptional_.”

The toy is still inside her, sliding in and out as Brighid lazily moves against her to keep her riding that wave of pleasure. Mòrag trembles, weak all over. She had ordered Brighid to do her worst, so…

“Thanks for the praise,” she breathlessly laughs. She gropes her ass as she continues to fuck her, and adds a couple light slaps for good measure. “Are you alright? Even when I can’t share my ether with you?”

“I can… go another round,” She lowly groans and shudders, already beginning to work herself up again, rocking in rhythm against Brighid’s leisurely humping. The mess between her thighs is warm. She’s grateful that Brighid had pulled her pants all the way down, rather than leaving them partially on; she can spread her legs further this way, to try to angle the toy deeper.

“Perhaps I’ll bend you over your own desk next time.”

“We can’t do that now…?” Mòrag whimpers, too weak to even lift her head.

“Don’t get greedy, Lady Mòrag.”

Her whimpering grows louder as Brighid pulls the toy out of her and shuffles back to remove the harness. Her own needs— of course Mòrag wouldn’t neglect her, but at times like these, a reminder is helpful. The key on the desk is so far away. Too far away. She thoughtlessly sets the strap-on aside (there’s _plenty_ of space on Mòrag’s bed, unlike those flimsy creaky little things they have at inns) and rolls her over onto her back.

Mòrag almost seems… disappointed, when she notices that Brighid isn’t wearing the strap-on anymore. But then her eyes widen as Brighid crawls up beside her head, gazing down at her with an expectant sort of lust, waiting for the affirming nod.

Even without their affinity link, Mòrag knows. She’s exhausted and panting but not yet unconscious, and her neck aches from the awkward angle it’d been stuck at when Brighid was shoving her face against the bedding, so she licks her lips and nods.

Brighid sighs aloud as she positions herself over Mòrag’s face, kneeling at first, then lowering to sit. Her shirt is wrinkled and singed in places and some of the buttons had somehow come undone; she can see it all from here, admiring the mess as Mòrag immediately gets to work with eating her out, dextrous even without the use of her hands.

Her tongue moves in a nonsensical pattern around her folds and entrance before moving up to probe for her clit. Brighid softly moans and grinds against her, careful to keep most of her weight distributed on her knees (though Mòrag likely wouldn’t complain if Brighid freely sat on her face like that).

Mòrag makes a somewhat confused noise when Brighid leans forward, hands sliding down the front of her practically-ruined shirt, and to her hips, still tender from the fucking. With this adjusted position where Brighid is now lying down, she can see again, though she needs to slightly tilt her head to continue lapping and licking at Brighid.

Then, she forgets to move her own mouth when she feels _Brighid’s_ mouth upon her.

“Don’t stop,” Brighid says, pushing herself back against Mòrag’s face. She’s using her fingers to touch and stroke her to alternate with gentle licks, and Mòrag babbles something incoherently before remembering that— yes, she shouldn’t stop.

Brighid wraps her thighs around her head to hold her in place, and Mòrag obliges by pushing her tongue into her just as Brighid carefully sucks on her clit. She’s fucking her again— this time with her fingers, stroking her inner walls, and the stimulation is almost too much all over again as Mòrag haphazardly slurps up Brighid’s wetness, overwhelmed by the sensations all over and the scent filling her nose, squirming beneath her and all but deaf thanks to those thighs pressing against her ears.

“Good—“ she somehow hears Brighid purr, and Mòrag pulls so hard at the handcuffs that the skin around her wrists might be rubbed raw.

The damn _handcuffs_. She wants to touch Brighid, her thighs, her ass, reach down for her breasts, tear off the rest of her clothes because surely the feel of the fabric can’t be comfortable for Brighid when she’s pressed flush against her like this. She wants to fuck Brighid as she’s being fucked now, with her fingers. Her own tongue is so inadequate in comparison.

Mòrag’s toes curl as she feels her second orgasm approaching. Brighid is beginning to slightly move her hips, and if she weren’t also occupied with licking and fingering Mòrag, she’d probably be wildly grinding and thrusting against her face. So she’s close, as well.

Mòrag presses her face forward as much as she can, practically burying her nose and mouth against the wet heat between Brighid’s thighs, sending a subtle thrum of vibrations against her with an appreciative groan. Brighid had abandoned the use of her fingers to hold onto Mòrag’s legs instead, now using her mouth in its entirety to lick and lick and lick frantically as she quickens herself towards climax.

She comes against Mòrag’s face with a sharp cry, squeezing her with her thighs so tightly that Mòrag’s head sharply spins for that prolonged moment.

Then, she relaxes. Mòrag laps at her a couple more times to lick up just a bit of the mess of her arousal, somewhat protesting when Brighid climbs off of her.

“You’re formidable, even when the ether is cut off,” Brighid smiles down at her, patting her face. Is she patronizing her? She’s patronizing her. But Mòrag could scarcely care less right now, tired and weak. It _is_ different when she can’t feel their shared link, but now it’s finally starting to bother her, wanting to hold Brighid and maybe pin her down— ha, like she’d be able to. But it’s a thought.

“If you could remove the handcuffs, then…?” Mòrag rolls over onto her side, flexing her fingers.

“Mmh, I think it’s a good look on you.”

“ _Brighid._ ”

“Haha, I know.”

She watches Brighid as she takes her time walking over to the desk. It feels like an eternity before she finally picks up the key and returns, rolling Mòrag over onto her stomach to unlock the cuffs and pull them away. Immediately, Mòrag sits up to roll her sore shoulders and stretch her arms with visible winces, and Brighid helps her out of her disheveled shirt.

Freed at last from her restraints, Mòrag brashly throws herself upon Brighid, holding her close to nuzzle. Their link flares up, soothing the aches and pains and even the sore chafes around her wrists from the cuffs, and Mòrag feels _very_ tempted to simply fall asleep right there.

Brighid kisses her forehead and smooths her hair down. “So, will you be sharing your final verdict on the handcuffs with the council?”

Mòrag scoffs, simply enjoying the familiar warmth. “I think I’ll keep this one between us.”


End file.
